


What Happened in the Deep

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:05:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7859332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes, startled by a panicked Dean in the middle of a nightmare about Hell, and covered in blood. Simple Gen one shot about Sam taking care of his brother, and lamenting on what he went through in the pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened in the Deep

Sam was standing with his gun in hand before he could have even said he was awake. Danger pricked his senses and he took in his surrounding, in less than a second, not even enough time for his eyes to begin to adjust to being opened so quickly.

Hunters were used to the danger that came with night-time and Sam was one of the best. He had always been a light sleeper and sudden noises, _distressed noises_ could wake him in an instant. His muscles were tight, ready to spring into action seconds after waking from even the deepest sleep and this time was no different. It was night, maybe around 3am by his internal clock, which was rarely wrong. There was pain in his left wrist and his head ached in an inflamed way that could only mean he had barely slept in the last 24 hours. It was a sad testament to their lives that Sam could recognize this kind of pain so instantly, but it was helping him quickly piece together what was happening.

 

He knew they had come home from a hunt a few hours earlier. He knew they had patched each other up in the way they always had, severe wounds first, moving onto the less serious as the bone weary exhaustion of the after-hunt slowly crept up on the brothers.

He heard labored, gasping sounds coming from the other motel bed, not even four feet away from his own. His memory cataloged Dean’s injuries quickly, careful to note anything that would account for _that sound_ coming from his brother’s mouth. He had no broken ribs, no concussion, and no internal bleeding, that he knew of.

 _Could I have missed something?_   Sam dreaded the thought. His mind raced as he waited the whole ten seconds it took his eyes to finally see his brother in front of him.

The almost full moon shining into the dirty window helped more than he could realize. His hands were steady on the cool metal of the gun and he stayed still as a stone. There were only a few things that could have his older brother gasping in that way: An injury from the hunt, a nightmare, or illness. Sam couldn’t chance waking his brother from a nightmare, or sleep at all for that matter. Dean had always been quick to wake, but also quick to defend himself from any perceived attacker, this was normal for any hunter who had seen what they had seen. He could easily use enough force to kill before he even woke up if he wasn’t handled correctly.

To put it simply, he was dangerous. And on top of the usual danger of waking Dean from a nightmare, was the fact that he had been _different_ for the last few months.

 

Ever since Dean had been raised from hell, the nightmares were more frequent, lasted longer and were harder for him to come out of. So Sam waited, he had to be able to see the whole situation before he would even think of acting. His stomach lurched as the seconds went by and he heard the choking gasp from his brother once more. Finally his eyes could make out the horrifying scene in front of him.

Dean was laying on his back, head thrown back and mouth opened as if he was screaming, but only wet, choking sounds escaped his lips. His back was arched and his shirt was in shreds. He was clawing desperately at his chest like he was trying to remove his own heart. It seemed as though he had scratched through the fabric of his shirt until it frayed and then kept scratching his bare chest until it was covered in blood.

Sam felt the bile raise to the back of his throat as he saw his brother scrape his bloody fingernails over and over his chest. His muscles were coiled into tight knots and Sam was sure if he could see color in the dimness, his brother’s lips would be blue from barely breathing. He felt relieved at the washed out darkness for the moment because in the moonlight the blood covering the older sibling was black, not the dark red that signaled his life could be slowly draining out of him--by his own hands.

Sam couldn’t stand still a second longer, no matter how dangerous Dean was; he had to stop his brother from hurting himself.

He threw the gun onto his own bed and flew to his brother’s side in one motion, grasping his bloody hands and tearing them away from his chest with all the force he could muster. “Dean!” He yelled “Dean! Wake up! Dean!” And using one hand, he slapped his brother on the cheek without holding back. “De-“ he didn’t finish the word. With inhuman-like speed Dean’s hand gripped his throat. Sam could not grasp how his brother was suddenly sitting upright, panting heavily and gripping his neck with deadly force.

Sam tried desperately to pry his brother’s fingers from his throat as he felt the air escape him. He realized why Dean was so fast and so strong, he could see _fear_ in the older Winchester’s eyes. Not the kind of helpful fear they had both experienced on a hunt, nor the fear of uncertainty or loss or loneliness. This was an animal, instinctual fear that pierced though his bright green eyes like fire. His eyes became wider as he continued to pant heavily and Sam could see the whites all the way around them. Dean’s voice came out in a low, deadly growl that Sam had only heard a few times in their lives. The voice that was anger and pain and laced with terror underneath it all. 

“Stop using his face.” It was almost a whisper, and Sam felt confused. He knew that his brother didn’t recognize him for some reason. _Was he possessed, still dreaming? What could he mean by Stop using his face?_

He could feel Dean’s wet, blood soaked fingers digging into his neck tightly and he wondered how long he had before darkness swept over his vision. He only had one shot to get Dean to calm down so he gave up trying to pry his brother’s hand from his sore throat and instead put his palms out in a defensive gesture in front of him. Dean’s eyes still burned, but Sam also sensed a bit of confusion.

At this point Sam started to see the familiar spotted blackness from his peripherals. He knew he only had one second left of consciousness so he softened his eyes on his brother, tried to smile and gently touched Dean’s cheek in wordless act of forgiveness.

Dean let go instantly like his hand was on hot coals, almost throwing his younger brother back as he did so. “Sam…Sammy!” He screeched and his eyes cleared, some kind of hazy dream cloud lifting from them. He was jarringly, painfully awake in one moment, and his whole being oozed worry. Dean held his brother’s shoulders while Sam sucked in mouthfuls of air, clutching at his freed throat and coughing spastically.

“Dean, I’m ok,” his voice finally rasped after a long moment of catching his breath. His neck throbbed and he felt lie he would never breath normally again from the swelling, but he was alive.

With a jab of sympathy like being hit in the gut, he put the pieces together. _Dean was having a nightmare, about hell. He woke up thinking he was still in the pit, thinking that I was a demon, using this face to… the thought was too much… to torture him. Oh god_ , Sam could have thrown up. _They used my face, Dean… he was hurt, and…someone-something used my hands to do it…my face… Oh God…._

Sam had just recently learned what happened to his brother in the four months _… no… 40 years_ he had spent in the pit. He knew he couldn’t imagine the horrors his brother had seen, and done while under the direction of Alistair. But he couldn’t wrap his head around this. He knew that if the demons somehow could look like him, that would be the worst torture of all for his older brother. Of course they did it.  _Does Dean see my face when he dreams of hell?_   _Does he hear my voice? Holy fuck…_ Sam couldn’t help but wrap his arms around his brother, not caring about getting blood all over his t-shirt as he did so.

Dean’s arms fell loosely at his sides and his voice was barely a whisper “Sam, Sam, I am so sorry Sammy.” The younger sibling could barely make out the words and shushed Dean in a soothing voice.

They both cried. Sam gripping his brother like a life-line and Dean burying his face in his little brother’s shoulder, both of them shaking with sobs. They wept for a long time, not moving an inch from each other until they both started breathing normally again, slowing down their breaths together as one.

When they felt each other relax, Sam loosened his grip and laid Dean down on the bed to inspect his wounds. He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and pressed into his face before turning on the light. They both winced at the brightness and Dean turned his head away, avoiding eye contact with his brother while wiping his face dry. Sam got up creakily and went for the first aid kit.

Before doing anything else, he wrapped up ice in a large handkerchief and crafted a small tube of the cold cubes, tying it snuggly like a chunky necklace around his aching neck. The quicker the swelling went down, the easier he could breathe while working on his brother. With his own wounds tended, he used the scissors and cut away the remaining shreds of Dean’s t-shirt.

Dean was practically catatonic at this point, his eyes opened blankly toward the door of their cheap motel room, not really looking at anything. His eyes were far away and Sam had to watch his chest for the rise and fall of his breathing to make sure he was alive. He followed Sam’s whispered directions while removing the cut up shirt but didn’t speak, or even blink.

Sam could feel the guilt emitting from his brother like an angry red wave. He could almost guess the thoughts going through Dean’s head while he simply went away, afraid to sleep for fear of the dreams again. If Sam had any more tears in him, he probably would have cried more, but for now his throat burned and his cheeks were raw. He felt a cold numbness as he inspected his brother’s self-inflicted wounds. He knew there was nothing he could say to make it better tonight or maybe any other night for that matter. All he knew is something had to change. He had to get his brother help somehow because the memories of hell were eating him alive. But he could deal with that tomorrow, after sleep, after some much needed body healing for both of them.

The skin on Dean’s chest was absolutely shredded. He looked for cuts he could stitch together but quickly gave up and decided to wrap the whole torso in gauze and enough disinfectant to kill even the strongest bacteria. As he cleaned the wounds Dean didn’t even flinch. It must have stung quite badly but there was nothing on the older brother’s face to indicate he was even alive, much less hurting. It was like he just stepped out of himself for a while.

Sam quickly and efficiently cleaned the whole area and wrapped his brother like a mummy before getting a small bowl of hot water from the bathroom sink. He moved to either side of the bed and dipped each of Dean’s bloody hands into warm water, staining it an ugly brownish red. Then lightly scrubbed the fingers and underneath each nail to remove as much blood and skin as possible. He fed Dean two antibiotics, just in case, and coaxed him to drink an entire glass of water. The whole process was slow and mechanical, Sam just focused on the task, trying to let his mind be at ease. 

Finally when he was clean and taken care of, Sam slipped a clean t-shirt over his older brother’s head and laid him down, without a single word of protest emitting from him. Sam knew Dean would have never let him baby him like this, but Dean still seemed absent, and Sam could only think that it was better than the gasping terror from earlier. When he was finished, Sam leaned to turn off the lamp on the night stand, but felt his brother’s arm lightly touch to stop him. He just looked into his brother’s eyes without a word and Sam understood completely.

 _I_ _am sorry Sammy, so sorry. Please, can you ever forgive me? Please, don’t ask about it, about hell, not tonight, please…Can we maybe, keep the light on for tonight?_

All of that in a single look, emotions playing over the older Winchester’s face, and Sam nodded in understanding. He left the light on and tucked himself back into the opposite bed wincing and adjusting the makeshift ice pack at his throat. _God, if you are around, you think you could give a little help to my brother? He is hurting, hurting in a way I have never seen before. He has always done good, you know that, so much good. Doesn’t he deserve a bit of relief? Please God._ Sam prayed and felt the hot burn of tears on his cheeks again. He couldn’t close his eyes yet though and he stared at his brother until the sun came peeking through the windows. Only relaxing when he heard the gentle soothing snore coming from the next bed.


End file.
